


Vibrations

by woollen_pharaohs



Category: Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
Genre: Domestic Violence, Fluff, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woollen_pharaohs/pseuds/woollen_pharaohs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter has a turbulent home life and parks outside of Robert's house most nights. Robert and his father have tried to convince Peter to stay within the household numerous times, but Peter's too stubborn for his own good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vibrations

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere in the mid 90's, when Peter is 18-19 and Rob's 16-17, before Pete joins brian jonestown massacre.

Rob's good with words; knows what to say or what not to say in most situations, can even say just what Pete wants to say only Rob's able to voice it better than he ever could. See, when people ask Pete questions about his life, he doesn't always have the answers right away, lease not when they expect him to reply. That makes him seem slow, when more than half the time he's trying to think of some kind of coherent response without sounding like a fucking loser jerk. The other times, well, getting high never helped the words that fell out of his mouth sound smart, only helped him musically.

Apart from the actual talking to people part of socialising, he's pretty good at sensing out the air, guessing how other people are feeling. Rob's Aunt, this forty something lady who cornered him the moment he set foot in the Been's household, he's just trying to appease her with small conversation so he can get the fuck out. Once people have got out of you what they want to, they usually leave you alone. Pete's really not fond of those kinds of people, the faux concerned look laced with judgemental facial expressions. Pete used to get that from his Dad's friends if ever they stopped by his home, saw the state of it, saw the state of him. And they would look at him like they were about to say something, but would stop because they could guess exactly what Pete would say, like they had already made up their minds about him. He's putting up with this one because Rob had asked him to come to his Dad's Christmas party, but honestly Pete didn't even think about it. He hadn't thought through the possibility that it wouldn't just be Michael and Rob sitting around making snow cones or whatever nice families did on Christmas Eve. Instead it was a reunion of the Been's extended family.

Rob's Aunt was probably mid sentence for all Pete knew, when Rob appears, excuses Pete from his Aunt and leads Pete towards the front door where no family member stood idly by. Pete misunderstands, thinks he's being lead outside, makes for the door.

"Where're you off to Pete?" Rob says, a hint of hurt in his voice.

Pete, hand on the doorhandle, "here's not for me, I'm going home."

"Pete don't go, you've seen how dull it is here. I'll go nuts having to talk about school and why I'm not playing sports with every god damn relative of mine. Be a friend and keep me company?"

"How 'bout we go for a drive instead?"

"I can't, Dad'll kill me if I ditch him. I have to keep up appearances or some bullshit."

There is no way Pete's going to go home tonight, not after what happened last night. He'd much rather sleep in his car out in the streets. And between the inevitable car sleeping and now, what's to lose? Pete turns to face Rob, nods slightly.

"Can't believe you wore that sweater. Did your mum knit it for you?" Rob jokes.

Pete shrugs, awkwardly and Rob immediately changes face, regret. "Oh man, I'm sorry."

"S'okay. Easy to forget."

Rob looks pained, usually Pete would walk the fuck away at that. He hated people taking pity on him, but Rob was different, maybe because Pete believed Rob was actually genuine.

Rob gestures down the hall, "I don't wanna run into some relative of mine at the door, I'll be forced to give them the grand tour for the hundredth time tonight," Pete follows Rob as they walk down the hall, and Rob continues talking, "there's only so many times I can clearly tell 'em, no, you can't see inside the studio, it's out of bounds. The reactions I've got to that, man, they reckon Dad's go a secret music cache hidden inside the studio or something. But I just know if they get the chance to go in, they'd wanna touch everything, mess up the setup."

Pete's been in the studio a few times. The first time was that night when he'd played at Abernathy and none of his friends had shown up, but Michael and Rob had, even though Pete didn't know Rob too well back then. Pete would bring his guitar to school every day, play in the courtyard, and Rob would listen in sometimes, they'd had a few chats about music and Pete had off-handedly asked him to come to his show at the bar. He never expected Rob to come, and the only reason why Michael was there too was because Rob wouldn't have been let in otherwise, and even though Michael laughed at him, both of them had liked his style in the end. He'd ended up going back to their place after his show, jammed in Michael's studio til their fingers wouldn't play anymore. If he had to choose, it's probably he's most fondest memory, which really says a lot.

That was a few weeks ago, maybe just over a month. Pete followed Rob into the studio, it wasn't much different to when he'd last seen it, a few different amps, instruments rearranged. Rob takes a seat on the couch, the only thing in the room Pete would be okay with touching without Michael present. Pete plonks down beside him, begins rolling a joint.

Pete pauses, "Do you think your Dad'll mind if we smoke in here?"

"Nah, he does it all the time. Might mind if I smoke,"

Peter winks, finished rolling, lights up. He offers the first drag to Rob, who blinks before taking the drug with a smile. "You're such a bad influence."

The two share the joint between them, a fairly medium, neutral dose. Enough to help the time pass by, make him feel less sick, less ache in his teeth reminding him of last night. They'd been absent from the party for quite some time, Pete began to wonder if that line about keeping up appearances was just a ploy to get Pete to stick around, not that he minded really. Rob's a cool guy, easy, chill, Pete needed that.

The door of the studio creaks open, a guy resembling the Been family, that rounded nose trait. He's tall, a little older than Pete, a body built for sports. He's stepping through the door, eyes scanning every detail of the room, a wicked grin on his face. When he talks his voice is shrill, mocking, "Robbie, you told me this was outta bounds!"

Rob stands up, speaks as firmly as he can, "Toby, you're not allowed in here."

"So? Neither's he," Toby says pointedly towards Pete, "wait, what the fuck? Are you guys smoking? This is sensitive equipment here boys, you shouldn't damage it."

Toby fiddles with the equalizer dials and knobs, Rob steps out in front of him, says, "Stop it."

Toby easily pushes Rob away, causing him to trip backwards, falls to the ground. Toby laughs and continues to play with the equipment. Pete stands up, an anger raging inside him for this disrespectful shit, locks his fist into Toby's jaw. Toby's momentarily stunned, a bully shocked at retaliation. Peter hasn't got much time to make his next move before Toby lands a reply punch into Peter's cheek, pain rocketing through his teeth. Peter's knocked back from the force, his back slams against the side of the sound station. Toby kicks him once, twice. There's shouting coming through the blackness that's shrouding him, he's losing consciousness, unsure whether he's breathing or not.

 -

It feels timeless; simultaneously a second and a whole day. Peter comes to, his stomach churning, his cheek throbbing, his mouth aching more than when his Dad had thrown a chair at him the night before.

"Your Aunt's gotta keep that boy at bay, he has no idea how much damage he can do to a person," Michael says from somewhere close by.

"He was touching your stuff, we tried to stop him," Rob says meekly.

"I know son, and I'm not angry at you boys. You know I fucking hate doing these family functions. It's not gonna happen under my roof again after this, no way anyone's gonna convince me that it's a good idea."

"Toby knocked his teeth out," Rob says quietly.

"Let's load him up in the car, get him to a hospital."

Pete's throat's parched, hurts to talk, "No, no hospital I hate.."

"Bud we gotta get your body checked, make sure it's alright on the inside," Michael says, laying a comforting hand on Pete's shoulder.

Pete flinches, "the bill.. my Pa'll kill me…"

"Don't worry about that, we gotta make sure you're okay. Help me lift him Robert."

Pete protests, at least he thinks he does anyway. He can't tell if the words are actually coming out of his mouth, or if their getting choked to nothing in his throat. The fight winded him, punching out all the wakefulness in his body. He felt weak, defeated. One thing was for sure, he couldn't let his Dad find out that he's being treated with kindness.

 

\- - -

 

Pete gets out of the hospital as soon as he can. The doc said he was alright, no internal bleeding or whatever, that his mouth would heal up overnight. He wanted Pete to stay the night in the hospital, and Pete got into a mess when Michael had insisted he stay at their place if he wasn't going to be at the hospital. Somehow he'd gotten his way, ended up driving the streets of his home town, always halfway home but can never quite get the motivation to get his car passed that half way point.

It's sunrise on Christmas day, kids'll be jumping on their parents' beds, dying to open up the presents. Pete wonders if his Dad's been looking for him, wondering where he's been. Pete hopes he's furious, helpless because he doesn't have a fucking clue where his son is and can't do a thing about it. The thought kinda makes Pete sick, but at the same time he loves the idea, how long can he leave his Dad angry for?

Pete finds his car rolling down Rob's street, pulls up slowly at their house, just out of sight, hopefully. The neighbourhood's dead quiet. Pete tries to get comfortable in the seat of his car, lays his head down on the head rest to sleep. He wonders what it's like for Rob on Christmas day, does he get spoilt rotten with presents, do they eat the Christmas pudding that's been hanging in their laundry since the day after he first visited the house.

Pete wakes up to the sound of a snowball hitting his car window, jerks him into wakefulness. His body's stiff, numb. He clambers out of his car, leans against the closed door, lights up a smoke. The joint wobbles in his chattering teeth. If it wasn't for the fact that being out in the cold winter air had practically frozen him in place against his car, or the snow at his feet locked him in position as if he was standing in sand at the shore of a beach, he might just have jumped right into his car and driven off at the sight of Rob coming towards him.

"How you feelin?" Rob asks gently, hands shoved in the pocket of his jacket.

Pete shrugs, grunts, takes a long drag.

"I was hoping you'd come back, I was gonna call Anton later on to see if he knew where you were."

"Not today, you wouldn't be able to get on to him," Pete says, offering his joint to Rob.

Rob takes it, says, "is there any time you're not getting high?"

"Nope," Pete laughs, grins at Rob.

Joint smoking away in his fingers, Rob fishes something out from under his arm, hidden underneath the folds of his large jacket. He presents it to Pete, says, "I got you a Christmas present."

Pete's surprised, doesn't take the parcel from Rob for a few minutes, slow.

"Open it," Rob encourages.

Pete frowns, unwraps the present. The Christmas tree wrapping paper falls into the snow and he holds up a mid grey cotton jacket. Not exactly for this weather, but it's nice.

"Thanks, but I didn't get you anything."

Rob shakes his head, "don't worry about it. I don't want anything."

Pete folds the shirt over his arm, "but you got me this, and Mike took me to the hospital. I gotta repay you somehow."

"Repay me?" Rob laughs, "that's funny, no man, it's nothing."

"How 'bout I play you a song,"

Rob stands up straight, slaps a hand on Pete's shoulder, "how about we play songs together?"

Pete grins, walks with Rob into the house. Music plays loudly from the studio and Pete feels at home, music filling his ears, the blood in his body. 

Before entering the studio, Rob says, "I think we should start a band."

"Your Dad's already in a band."

"Yeah no, one with you and me, we'll be called The Elements."

\- - -

Peter's stubborn. Robert's tried numerous times to get Peter to stay the night inside but Peter's always refused, not because he isn't grateful that the Been household would even think it's alright for him to stay a while, it's just, he's fine with the way things are. He's happy to sleep in his car, parked underneath the fig tree in the Been's front yard, it's enough for him that the family has let him hide there. He sleeps in the back seat, heels perched on the unwound window, the fresh summer air rolling through. He can see the hazy night sky, the lights inside the Been household, warm even in the early morning.

Even still, he tries not to be a nuisance. He rolls his car into position late into the night, pulls out onto the curb at daylight, gives Robert a lift to school when he needs it. He doesn't go to school much himself anymore, hasn't for months. He meets up with Matt and the guys, jams mostly. They're working on an album. He's meant to be looking for a job though, he tries, sort of. The days slip by, he's been meaning to write up his résumé, like he's got anything to put on it. After that he's meant to hand it around to whatever small or tall shop will have him, he just hasn't got up to the actual writing up his business yet.

Mostly he tries to stay out of his own house as long as possible, live off others. It does disgust him, that's part of the reason why he won't accept Rob's invitation, he's sick of having to leech off other people's good will, he wants to be able to do it for himself. That's where the job thing comes in. It's just kinda hard when time slips through his fingers, sometimes he doesn't even know what date it is, how long it's been since he's been back home. Some days it's impossible not to go back, how long had he been living in the same dirty clothes, how long has it been since he had a shower. He tries to sneak in sometimes, always a bad idea. He'd tried that day, had been halfway through a glorious hot shower, he loves it hot when it's hot outside, the temperatures clash well with his skin. Anyway, he'd been halfway through his god damn shower when his father had ripped him out. He'd only just been able to clamber back into his car, black and blue, just barely got away without his dad laying a hand on his car.

In all honesty, without his car he'd be a dead man. Without that escape, that freedom having a car grants him, things would have been different. His car's his shelter. Rob gets that. He got it quite quickly, because it was usually under Michael's instruction to try to convince Peter to come inside. Sang songs about comfy beds, blankets, warm dinner on the table. Peter never denied it sounded appetising, like a fucking dream family. But he wasn't ready to accept it, don't think he'd ever be, not when he felt so fucking useless, stationary in his life as time propels around him.

Robert's a good mate. Peter's known him for a long time,  used to see him around school, made friends pretty easy, mutual love for music was all it took. He'd been inside a few times, jammed with Rob and his Dad. Ever since punching up Rob's cousin he's felt guilty setting foot inside the house, so if ever he feels like jamming with Rob, they do it in the yard, day or night. Still, Rob treats him well. Brings out tubs of yoghurt when he can't sleep on the hottest nights of summer. Rob tells him the house isn't built for summer see, isn't ventilated properly, the walls sweat as much as he does.

Rob wanders over to Peter's car, a tub of yoghurt in each hand. He doesn't even ask, just opens up the car door, lets Peter's legs drop to the seat, slides in. Not the first time Rob's joined him for a midnight snack. Peter moves around him, sits up on the back seat, feet pressed against the back of the passenger seat. He's playing a song, doesn't stop strumming with Robert beside him. Rob's got both spoons between his teeth, yoghurt tubs between his legs as he peels off the paper lids. Peter props his guitar in his lap, takes the tub as Rob offers it to him. Rob catches a glint of Peter's busted up knuckle, Peter's long hair falls in front of his face. His Dad hates it when he hides his face, he always wants to see it, see the damage he's done, like it means something, like his son is some kind of walking trophy.

Peter cups the tub in his hand, condensation dripping onto his hot hands, cold sweat. Rob's relaxing, in his own way, cross legged on the seat beside him, spooning yoghurt into his mouth.

"You shouldn't go back there again," Robert says casually, matter-of-factly.

"I wouldn't if I didn't need to go back," Peter replies, low, cautious. He knows what's coming.

"You don't need to go back. Stay with us, there's no trouble."

Peter half sighs, "I am staying with you,"

Robert speaks with his spoon still hanging out of his mouth, "yeah but not really, you're on the outskirts of Been City. Come on man, honestly, there's no issue with us if you stay inside our walls. You've got some idea in your head that we aren't okay with it but we really are, we'd love to have you stay."

"I know," Peter says, sets his yoghurt down on the middle seat, takes up strumming his guitar again. A slow, scratchy tune. Presses his cheek close to the wood, vibrations.

"You can't keep living like this," Rob says.

"I know," Peter says again, quiet, redundant.

Peter thumbs the strings and flinches as he feels Rob gently touch his knuckles, the bruises prickle his bones. Peter runs his left hand down the neck of the guitar, that hollow sound. Rob takes hold of the guitar, lifts it easily out of Peter's hands, zero resistance, lifts it over their heads and places it gently in the boot. Where's his stubbornness now?

Robert creeps closer, bare knee bumps Peter's thigh. Rob lifts Peter's long hair, runs a thumb across Peter's crooked eyebrow, damaged skin over his eye, from skin to bone.

"I don't like you getting hurt like this."

"I know," Peter says, a terrible song stuck on repeat.

Rob cups Peter's face, pulls him close, lips join and it's so tender, the greatest kindness, Peter feels like crying. Rob's mouth is small but sweet and playful and he kisses Peter with a smile and it's contagious, and even though Peter's definitely sure the salty sweat he tastes is actually tears, he's happy. Rob strokes his fingers through Peter's matted hair, moves into Peter's lap, straddles him. The lights from the street hit Rob's face, illuminates his ghostly figure, naked chest, boxer shorts slack on his hips.

"You taste like vanilla," Peter says, shy, eyes flutter away.

Robert slips his hands beneath Peter's shirt, lifts it up, over his head.

"I know," Robert says, a grin on his face. That quirked corner lip, those half closed eyes, arched back like he's posing for a fucking porn zine.

Robert dips down, takes Peter's lips in his, still playful, like it's a game. Peter grips Rob's waist, presses him down, locks him in place, clothed cocks pressed hard against each other, a hitched gasp from Rob. Rob leans in close, pulls Peter's face to his chest, stretches his hand down Peter's bare back, traces each knob of the spine.

Peter flinches underneath the bruises Rob touches on his back, and when Rob speaks he hears it echo through his chest, feels the words vibrate in his own body.

"I'm sorry," Rob rasps, mouth close to Peter's ear, arms wrapping around his head.

"It's okay," pauses, "you make me okay."

Rob nudges Peter's left thigh across, positions Peter beneath him, back flat on the seat, legs folded, propping Rob up on his lap. That's when Rob rolls into him and Peter moans, guttural, animalistic. Nose flares, eyes widen with fury, with lust and he works on getting his cock out of his jeans. This is the first night he ever regrets staying in his everyday clothes.

Robert helps him, not wanting to sit back and watch Peter struggle, and he slips his hand underneath the denim, takes Peter's cock in his hand and gazes up at Peter, the god damn half eyelid look shoots an arrow through Peter's head. Peter snorts, only because his breathing is so heavy through his nose, Robert begins pumping him. It's a little out of sync, a little rough so Peter puts a hand over Rob's, shows him how he likes it.

Peter arches his back, eyes rolling back, feels Rob's wet lips encircle his cock, if he arches anymore he's going to break his back. So he reverses, presses down into the fabric of the seat, combs his fingers through Rob's crazy messy hair, other hand finds Rob's free hand, just holds it, grips it for support. Rob lets go, warm summer air breathes over his wet cock.

"Mate you gotta tell me if i'm doing good, tell me what's gotta be done," Rob says, saliva slick over his lips.

Peter blinks, nods towards his cock. Rob returns, kisses his shaft first, licks around the base, then draws it all in. He looks every so often at Peter, checks the reaction, ears tuned to the frequency of Peter's breathing. Rob takes the signs of Peter's moans that he's doing it right, and he tries out different things, learns through the reaction of Peter's body language what he likes, what does nothing for him. And it's the first and last time Robert ever asks him, ever since then he experiments, plays with Peter's body, deciphers Peter's secret language.

Rob does this thing with his tongue where he flicks it just beneath the head of Peter's cock and sucks at the same time and it's what sends Peter over the edge for the first time, not the last time. Rob lifts off Peter, a thin line of come from Peter's cock to the corner of Rob's mouth. He spits it into his hands, uncaring, applies the natural lube to his own cock and brings himself to release. Rob bites his lip as he comes into his hand, careful not to spill onto Peter. He falls beside Peter, head resting on Peter's still heaving chest. Peter's unsure if he'll ever breathe normally again.

Peter holds Rob close to his skin, like he'll slide out at any time, as easily as he joined Peter in the car. Peter buries his face in Rob's hair, smells the soap.

"Don't leave me," Peter finds himself saying, immediately regrets it, feels like a fucking weakling.

"Come inside with me, there's a bed waiting," Rob says, mumbling against Peter's chest.

Peter mumbles something incoherent, unsure even what he was trying to say himself.

Rob sits up, "is that a yes?"

Peter searches Rob's face, his puppy dog face squashed against Pete's chest, how can he say no when Rob's lying naked on his body, having just jacked each other off, and he's looking at him that way, he's finding it hard to remain stubborn.

"Maybe," Peter croaks, throat dry.

Robert throws his arms around Peter, hugs him tight. He's still a kid in some ways, after all, he's a couple of years younger than Peter. Still, Rob gets him like no one else.

 


End file.
